Iraq Journaltag:typepad.com,2003:weblog-17000062008-12-02T12:45:45-05:00Impressions, Reflections and Experiences from my Year in IraqTypePadA Message of Hope in Iraqtag:typepad.com,2003:post-593623982008-12-02T12:45:45-05:002008-12-02T12:45:45-05:00Thanksgiving in Iraq – Indian Heritage Month Three mortars fell on our base Friday. I remember someone mentioning an attack was imminent because the Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) had been finalized. Fortunately, no one was hurt. They were not...Kamran Lehman
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Thanksgiving
in Iraq – Indian Heritage Month&#0160;
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Three mortars
fell on our base Friday. I remember someone mentioning an attack was imminent
because the Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) had been finalized. Fortunately,
no one was hurt. They were not as lucky in the International Zone (the Green
Zone), where a mortar landed and killed 3 people. I mention all this only to give contrast to a parallel event that happened the same evening. I had been
bracing for a mortar attack since arriving in Baghdad, but when it finally came
last Friday it was anti-climactic. It was loud, but it also landed with the
force of an impotent thud. The insurgents holding the launcher and ducking off in
a nearby alley had hoped to inflict casualties, but hardly anyone took notice. There was something much more significant happening on base this evening, an
event that may not make the headlines, but will have a longer lasting impact on
Iraq’s future than a failed mortar attack. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">An old
friend tipped me off last week that her dad was on his way to Baghdad.<span>&#0160; </span>Her dad is Kevin Locke, an internationally
acclaimed Native American performer and a good will ambassador to the world.
Kevin has performed virtually everywhere on the planet, so it was not a big surprise
that he would also be performing in Baghdad. Kevin’s son is
an Army Staff Sergeant serving in Baghdad, and was instrumental in making his dad&#39;s trip a reality for Thanksgiving and Indian heritage month.&#0160;</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629e3e5970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Hoopdancing 2004146064" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d61803883401053629e3e5970b " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629e3e5970b-800wi" title="Hoopdancing 2004146064" /></a>&#0160;</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 10px; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">(Image taken from http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/ABPub/2008/01/25/2004146064.jpg)</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d618038834010536320144970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Hoopbig" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d618038834010536320144970c image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d618038834010536320144970c-800wi" style="width: 311px; height: 203px;" title="Hoopbig" /></a>&#0160;</p><p style="font-size: 10px; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">(Image taken from <strong><a href="http://www.freewebs.com/nativeamericanunity/hoopdancers.htm" target="_top">http://www.freewebs.com/nativeamericanunity/hoopdancers.htm</a>)</strong></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I had the good fortune of seeing
one of Kevin’s shows a long time ago and I still remember what a life affirming
experience it was, it has stayed with me all these years. Of course I jumped on the chance to experience it again.&#0160; <span></span>Kevin weaves the theme
of unity with Native American dancing, flute playing and storytelling. No
description of mine can really do it justice, but by relating my
experience I hope to give a vague notion of how inspiring and powerful Kevin’s
performance is to witness, especially in Iraq. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Early in the
week I set out to get details on his visit, but getting information turned out to be a challenge. No one publicized his performances on our
base. I got word later in the week that he had already
done his major performances and would be leaving Baghdad soon. It was a huge
blow, and I knew I had to be resourceful and quick in order to not miss Kevin
altogether. I enlisted the help of a good friend, who is a Major in the Air Force, to track down Kevin’s performance schedule. She was able to find out that Friday evening&#0160; Kevin would do one last performance </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">before</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> he and his group returned to the
states. There was one problem, it was already Friday afternoon and we needed
special permission to get access to the particular location, it was an area controlled by
Iraqi Special Forces. My friend heroically came
through again (apparently rank and a sense of mission are effective tools in a
war zone) and our names were submitted to the checkpoint guard so he could
allow us entry. Another friend, a Lebanese American, joined up as well.&#0160; Prior to leaving, we
heard the first mortar land, but it was only background noise, and&#0160; it was not going to define this evening. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We
checked out a government vehicle and we were on our way.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As we arrived, we were
expecting the audience to be mostly US soldiers, but were disavowed of this after we walked into the auditorium and saw almost all Iraqis, some
in uniform. One man, probably a higher ranking individual, had brought his young
daughter with him - it made me realize this was the first child I had seen since
arriving in Baghdad 3 months ago.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Kevin warmly
greets us and asks about what we are doing in Baghdad. Thinking it&#39;s an innocuous
question I say, “We’re translators.&quot; Without missing a beat, Kevin’s next
question is, “Would you mind translating for
us tonight, our translator didn&#39;t show up?” The thought of translating for Kevin in front of a crowd of Iraqi Special
Forces is terrifying, but we rise to the occasion. My Lebanese friend
and I decide to take turns. It&#39;s going to be interesting, the Lebanese dialect is quite a bit different than the Iraqi dialect, and the Modern Standard Arabic I know is not commonly spoken dialect outside of formal settings. Kevin helps us out by giving us the run down on
the different songs, dances and stories he and his group have in store. In truth,
this is a huge honor and as it begins to hit me that I will be translating for Kevin Locke, the excitement grows. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One of
Kevin’s gifts as a performer is to take universal themes and tailor them to the
audience. The specific audience on this night is a unit of young Iraqi soldiers. The mission of these soldiers is to go after the worst terrorists imaginable.&#0160;<span> </span>They chase down the ones who build IEDs and send
suicide bombers into crowded markets to kill women and children. Without a doubt, the future of
Iraq depends on their heroism. The soldiers in this room will take a leading role in Iraq&#39;s future when Coalition Forces stand down. Appropriately, Kevin’s first dance is about rising up to serve and he dedicates it to the soldiers in the audience who chose to
rise up and serve their country. He tells them that through their sacrifices they are ensuring a brighter future for Iraq. Kevin’s message resonates deeply with the Iraqi
troops; the hardest heart in the room can’t help but melt. The pulsating rhythm from the drum fills the background. Throughout the
evening he relates Native American stories of young men who have to be brave and
leave their loved ones, he narrates Indian prophecies about a day when the human
race will be united as one family and explains that the Iraqi people are now able to help
fulfill this prophecy. He repeatedly thanks the soldiers for their service, not just to Iraq, but for the role they play in the world. He reminds them of being part of a larger tribe, the human race. Kevin shares a Lakota prayer through
hand motions, he calls on the Great Spirit for strength and asks for assistance for Iraq. Rambunctious
young soldiers filter in during the performance oblivious to what they are
walking into. It doesn’t take long for them to be won over by the spirit in the
room. I try to imagine the hardships these young soldiers have faced as Iraq has suffered over these years. Did they risk their lives to enlist?&#0160; How many of them have lost loved ones in the
sectarian violence? How many explosions and gunshots have they heard and wondered if a friend
or family member was a victim? How many dangers have they faced or would they face?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> I wonder about all of this
and think back to the mortar that hit down earlier in the evening. <span>It is insignificant in comparison to what I&#39;m experiencing at this moment. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The
highlight of Kevin’s performance is the hoop dance. It has all the wonder of a
good magic show, with an engaging storyteller at the helm who breathes life into every
word and motion. Every movement has a life lesson and an easily relatable principle that is applicable for for every member of the human race. The hoop dance is a dance specific to the
Lakota nation and Kevin has helped preserve it for future generations. Tonight he shares it with Iraq. (See links to
Kevin’s YouTube videos below). Each movement has special symbolism which Kevin narrates
throughout. At one point he connects the hoops in a way that prevents him from
standing up and he explains, “In life we encounter hardships, but through the
struggle we are made stronger”, he relates this to the struggles of the Iraqi people, then the pattern of hoops changes as he is able to rise
up stronger. Later he makes the hoops form the wings of an eagle and then a globe. He tells the audience
that the globe is the earth and is made up of different peoples, if one
people is not represented the whole earth suffers, Kevin then illustrates this
by removing a hoop from the globe which represents Iraq, the globe
collapses. The audience is entranced. <span>&#0160;</span>Expressive
outburst of, “Wallahi”, “by God”, are heard. The room is charged with emotion, I’m holding back tears and realize how glad
I am that my Lebanese friend is up there translating. I doubt I could have held it together as well. <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629bd68970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC01669" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d61803883401053629bd68970b image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629bd68970b-800wi" style="width: 246px; height: 183px;" title="DSC01669" /></a>
<a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629be6a970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC01691" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d61803883401053629be6a970b image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629be6a970b-800wi" style="width: 242px; height: 182px;" title="DSC01691" /></a>&#0160;</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629bf59970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC01689" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d61803883401053629bf59970b image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629bf59970b-800wi" style="width: 241px; height: 180px;" title="DSC01689" /></a>
<a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629c09a970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC01697" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d61803883401053629c09a970b image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629c09a970b-800wi" style="width: 243px; height: 181px;" title="DSC01697" /></a>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 9px; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">(The flag in the background reads, &quot;We all love Iraq&quot;)</span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">At the end
of the performance Kevin calls for volunteers to come down and learn movements from
the hoop dance. At first a bit of male pride keeps the young soldiers in their seats, but soon machismo takes over, they let down their guard
and invade the stage. You can tell its cathartic. The spirit is tangible, the drumbeat in the background is the collective human heartbeat. The final dance is a
friendship dance where everyone comes together in a circle, it breaks off and
the lead person goes the counter direction inside the circle and shakes hands
with the next person. The group follows, snaking inward so everyone shakes everyone else’s
hand. An irresistible feeling of unity and brotherhood is evoked. The drum beat
in the background continues to mimic a heartbeat. The Iraqis mix the Native dance movements with their own native Dibka dance (an Arab dance that also takes the form of people holding hands in a circle).&#0160;</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629cab5970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="BDSC01716" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d61803883401053629cab5970b image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629cab5970b-800wi" style="width: 249px; height: 186px;" title="BDSC01716" /></a>
<a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053631e5a2970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="BDSC01740" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d61803883401053631e5a2970c image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053631e5a2970c-800wi" style="width: 246px; height: 184px;" title="BDSC01740" /></a>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">At the end, Kevin introduces his
group, and says the name of each tribe represented. I tell an Iraqi soldier
standing next to me, “Min al ‘Asha’ir Kathirah, mithl al ‘Iraqiyin…” &lt;translation&gt;
“They’re from many different tribes like the Iraqis.” <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The message of unity is a poignant one for Iraqis at this point in history, and the way Kevin delivered the message was absorbed by the audience. They have come to know up close some of the ugliest violence and divisions human beings are capable of inflicting on each other, but tonight is filled with the eternal message of unity. <br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Afterward, many Iraqis come up to me wondering how I learned Arabic, they smile wide and express, &quot;Munasab Jamilah!&quot; &lt;translation&gt; &quot;What a beautiful occassion!&quot;. I know this performance and its message will stay with them for a long time, just like it did for me the first time I saw it over a decade ago. This is an important night. </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053631c9a1970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="N533401421_2079952_3352" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d61803883401053631c9a1970c image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053631c9a1970c-800wi" style="width: 191px; height: 131px;" title="N533401421_2079952_3352" /></a>
<a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629d32a970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="BDSC01797" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d61803883401053629d32a970b image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d61803883401053629d32a970b-800wi" style="width: 174px; height: 131px;" title="BDSC01797" /></a>&#0160;</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">Kevin&#39;s homepage: kevinlocke.com</p><p class="MsoNormal">Kevin Locke YouTube Vid&#39;s: </p><p class="MsoNormal">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaHbbX-aoJU</p><p class="MsoNormal">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_gtJDvU0QY&amp;feature=related</p><p class="MsoNormal">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqNRLIH4vZk&amp;feature=related</p><p class="MsoNormal">Kevin&#39;s Wiki page: </p><p class="MsoNormal">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kevin_Locke<br /><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></div>
November 5thtag:typepad.com,2003:post-585976522008-11-17T03:30:41-05:002008-11-17T03:30:41-05:00NOV. 4th There's something going around... and I caught it. It's Nov. 4th and I'm in the confined space of my living quarters with a sore throat and a cough. A cold can seem 10 times worse in Baghdad with...Kamran Lehman

NOV. 4th

There's something going around... and I caught it. It's Nov. 4th and I'm in the confined space of my living quarters with a sore throat and a cough. A cold can seem 10 times worse in Baghdad with all the dust and sounds of war, but it's not a big deal today. And although this tiny living space can make you feel quarantined from the outside world, I'm just not feeling the isolation either.

In several hours the United States is going to wake up to election day, but something has already changed. I can see it in the circles of people I interact with and it's on the faces of the international cadres out here. I was even approached by a government employee and lifelong Republican who confided in me that his vote went to Obama. This is no small indicator of which way the election will go. He explained that as someone who has worked all over the globe, it was the enthusiasm Obama brought to the rest of the world that won him over.

Because of the time difference, results won't come in until early next morning, but I'm going to rest easy tonight.

NOV. 5th

I step into the workplace still trying to shake this cold. I find that the world I normally inhabit has turned into a party. The day-to-day stress of being in Iraq and away from family and friends has somehow melted away and everyone is talking and enjoying themselves. An Egyptian lady brought a spread of food (Hummus, Ful, Pita etc.). People are huddled around making tea for each other. Co-workers are calling out "mabruk, mabruk". Indeed, congratulations are in order. Over the past 8 years America and the world's collective psyches have taken a giant kick to the head. But it feels good to be an American today, even in Iraq...especially in Iraq. Walking through the Chow Hall line the Ugandan guards say, "Zhambo sir, congratulations". There are beautiful smiles on their faces, which seems to convey a feeling of kinship with America. It feels good to be an American today.

LATER....

I have to take the latter half of the day off, the cough is too much and I'm exhausted from hacking most of the night. I spend 3 hours waiting in the clinic to get some cough syrup. I go to my room knowing I should sleep, but instead I immerse myself in all the post-election headlines, and watch McCain's concession speech and Obama's victory speech. Our internet connection is kind of slow, so youtube videos are painstaking to upload. Finally, after being satiated with internet media consumption, I get some much needed rest. I'm woken up a little after 1800 when my roommate comes in to get me for dinner. We hash out the election results for a while. He's an ex-Marine and also from Oregon, we have pretty much identical political viewpoints so the banter is mostly self congratulatory. Out of nowhere we are startled by what can only be described as a sledgehammer hitting the side of our wall, and seconds later all the clothes hanging in my roommate's wall locker crumble to the floor. We are in agreement that it's a mortar attack and it must have landed nearby. There is nowhere to take cover in case another one lands, we're already behind concrete walls. The feeling is one of vulnerability, followed by acceptance, followed by going to the chow hall and forgetting about it for the time being. But we are wrong, it isn't a mortar attack at all. People outside relate seeing a huge flash on the horizon followed by a deafening boom. It's not until the next day that we learn the truth: BAGHDAD (AP) - Police in Iraq say a
suicide bomber rammed his car into a police patrol today, killing six
people and wounding 12 others.

We found out that 200 lbs of explosives ripped through the Iraqi police patrol a mile away from us. Most likely a revenge attack against members of the Awakening who switched allegiance from the insurgency to help Coalition Forces.

I realize this is a commonplace headline back home, but I'm sure we all can recall a time when it wasn't all that common. I was in Haifa, Israel in 1995 and remember a magazine cover showing a suicide attack in Tel-Aviv. The carnage was indescribable. It was impossible to come to terms with another human being detonating himself to kill other people. At the time I remember struggling to accept that it happened 90 minutes from where I was living in Haifa. Something changed in America's psyche after 9/11, we have grown numb to this level of violence. This attack was surreal because of the proximity, and the timing of it was just wrong. It wasn't a day for hatred and violence anywhere.

It's not easy to reconcile the two events, Obama's victory and being in the radius of a suicide blast. The sectarian hatred in Iraq is so bad that it takes on a life of its own. This element of Iraqi society was little understood when Bush decided to invade in 2003. These tensions were held at bay under Saddam, but they also festered and the invasion exposed how deep the divisions really were.

I find hope in the fact that my colleagues come from many of the same ethnic and religious groups, but have found common cause as Americans. Obama's victory is sweet, it feels good to be an American today.

A Tale of Courage in Northern Iraqtag:typepad.com,2003:post-576066272008-10-27T10:01:55-04:002008-10-27T10:01:55-04:00(Names and places have been changed or redacted where deemed necessary) I work with some interesting people who come from many different Middle Eastern backgrounds, some of them have been working out here since the invasion in 2003. One of...Kamran Lehman
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p><span style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span></p>
<p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">(Names and places have been changed or redacted where deemed necessary)<br /></span></p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I work with some interesting people who come from many different Middle Eastern backgrounds, some of them have been working out here since the invasion in 2003. One of my favorites, and a personal friend, is a Kurd named Niyaz who grew up in Sulimaniyah, Iraq and Emigrated to the states later in life. Niyaz used to go on patrols in the north with the Coalition Forces until he was caught in an ambush that left him with a life threatening injury. He recently sought my help in putting the incident down in writing. I think it is a pretty remarkable story and I asked for his permission to post it on the weblog. Enjoy:<br /></span></p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; color: #000000;"><span style="color: #ffffff; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">&quot;In 2005 I was with a team that was ambushed while conducting an area familiarization
mission. We were in a rural and mountainous region to the east of </span><span style="color: #111111; background-color: #111111; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">DDDDD</span><span style="color: #ffffff; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> in the </span><span style="color: #111111; background-color: #111111; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">DDDDDD</span><span style="color: #ffffff; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> sub-district. I
was sitting in the back seat of the lead vehicle behind the driver. We were conducting
reconnaissance for possible exit routes and our convoy decided to try a dirt
road down the mountain. The dirt road took us past 2 villages, after passing
the 2</span><span style="color: #ffffff; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">nd</span><span style="color: #ffffff; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> village we noticed several people approach us waving excitedly
for us to stop; we ignored this and continued down the dirt road until it
eventually reconnected with the main road. We circled back around the same
route to get a GPS reading.&#0160; Prior to
reaching the 2nd village, the driver realized we were headed straight into an ambush;
he threw the vehicle into reverse and backed up into a ditch. The gunmen began
firing on us at that point. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In the confusion of bullets and yelling I managed to climb out of the vehicle with the rest of the team, it
was then that I noticed I had taken a bullet in the head, I
was bleeding profusely and my hearing was impaired. At one point I got up to
return fire with my mP5 and noticed one of the gunmen was wearing Kurdish
clothing. I stood up and shouted at the gunmen in Kurdish and in Arabic to stop
firing. My team was taking cover in the ditch at the time and they tried to restrain me, but I persisted and stood up amid the gunfire and again yelled at
the gunmen to stop firing while yelling back at my team in English to also stop. I believed my injury was mortal, the blood
loss was significant and I was going in and out of consciousness, I made it my mission at this point to try and save the lives of
my team members. There was nothing to lose, I was determined to take control of the
situation. Everyone thought I was crazy, but our location was too remote for Coalition Forces to come
to our aid and we were pinned down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I continued
to shout at the gunmen to stop, trying to convince them we were not bad people,
but I refrained from identifying ourselves as Americans
because it was still unclear who we were dealing with. When this failed, I decided
to approach the gunmen while demanding that they stop, the gunfire decreased momentarily
and one gunman yelled back asking who we were. I tried to ease the tension
and convince him that we were a friendly group. The gunfire had died down, but a second group on a hill in the distance continued firing on us while I
was engaged in a 2 way conversation with the 1<sup>st</sup> group of
gunmen. One of the gunmen approached me while several other gunmen drew their
weapons on me. I was reaching my hands out to show I was not a
threat. I lost consciousness several times, I fell
down and then forced myself back up again. One gunman identified himself as part of
the Kurdish Iraqi army, these were the Peshmerga. I explained to him that we were on his side and
requested that his people cease firing so that when our helicopters came they would not mistake the Peshmerga as enemies; this ploy worked and the gunmen immediately sent
a messenger over to the 2<sup>nd</sup> group of gunmen to request that all
gunfire cease. When the situation calmed down, my team began administering 1<sup>st</sup>
aid and we waited for MEDVAC to come. They arrived 20-30 minutes later and I
was flown to Mosul to receive treatment. The Kurdish village took care of the team afterwards and fed them.&quot; -Niyaz<br /></span></p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span>As it turns out, this was a case of mistaken identity, a day earlier Sunni Insurgents had attacked this Kurdish village. The Peshmerga were there to protect them against a second attack. Today Niyaz is doing fine, the bullet was left in his head and he still suffers from occasional headaches and mental lapses. When Niyaz was a young man in Iraq he used to be a member of the Peshmerga, it is a strange twist of fate that he was put in a situation where he was taking gunfire from his own people. The history of the Peshmerga goes way back (see wiki link below), during the time of Saddam, they were a battle hardened militia who sided with Iran during the Iran-Iraq war. Some say that if we had given more support to the Kurds in the mid &#39;90s when Saddam&#39;s forces were dispirited and on the decline, they could have&#0160; finished the job back then and we would not be in the mess we are in now. Following desert storm the US created a no-fly zone in the north to protect the Kurds from Saddam&#39;s aggression which allowed the Kurds relative prosperity during the sanctions. Today Kurds are one of the most persecuted groups throughout the middle east. They stood to gain the most from the US invasion, and their stronghold in the north is one of the few places that has had a degree of normalcy the past several years. They are second class citizens in Turkey, Syria and Iran (Iran probably being the most tolerant). </p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">A few links of interest: </p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peshmerga</p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d618038834010535c284e4970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="NCansar_x002.sized" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d618038834010535c284e4970c image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d618038834010535c284e4970c-800wi" title="NCansar_x002.sized" /></a>
</p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">(http://www.watchingamerica.com/azzaman000116.shtml)</p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d618038834010535c28498970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Peshmerga372" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d618038834010535c28498970c " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d618038834010535c28498970c-800wi" title="Peshmerga372" /></a>
</p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The Kurdish forces have always been very inclusive of women, which puts them in the company of 2 other Middle Eastern countries that actively use women in their ranks (Israel and Iran being the other 2):</p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d618038834010535c28317970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="KUR05018_16595" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d618038834010535c28317970c image-full " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d618038834010535c28317970c-800wi" title="KUR05018_16595" /></a>
</p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><a href="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d618038834010535c2813a970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Peshmerga01" border="0" class="at-xid-6a00e553d618038834010535c2813a970c " src="http://iraqjournal.typepad.com/.a/6a00e553d618038834010535c2813a970c-800wi" title="Peshmerga01" /></a></p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">(http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/southeast/tours/arts/pages/peshmerga.shtml?2)&#0160;</p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></p><p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p>&#0160;</o:p></span></p>
<p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p>&#0160;</o:p></span></p>
<p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p>&#0160;</o:p></span></p>
<p style="color: #fcfae1; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p>&#0160;</o:p></span></p></div>
Baghdad Day Offtag:typepad.com,2003:post-572831152008-10-20T08:20:00-04:002008-10-20T08:20:00-04:00I'm not in a war zone today, it's my day off. I'm anywhere else, I've got a stack of books, a guitar and some left overs from dinner at the chow hall the night before, I have all my needs...Kamran Lehman

I'm not in a war zone today, it's my day off. I'm anywhere else, I've got a stack of books, a guitar and some left overs from dinner at the chow hall the night before, I have all my needs met; my trailer is literally a bunker of escapism. Just when I've eased into a cocoon of obliviousness, low flying helicopters buzz our living area, and suddenly the illusion is broken... Oh well, it was time to venture outside anyways, I had planned to take my friend over to the Bazaar to get some lunch and shop for guitars. The Bazaar is also a great escape, shop owners from Baghdad come and set up a market on a neighboring base. It is one of the few chances to talk with ordinary Iraqis. At the Bazaar, I learn that the shop owner of the music stand is also a musician and very friendly, we talk about guitars and I help my friend pick out a decent one to learn on. As a side mission I had been wanting to ask about Ouds (the Oud is an ancestor of the guitar and the lute). The Oud is said to have originated in Iraq (see pics below). Baghdad is famous for it's tradition of handmade Ouds and Oud players, I had been thinking seriously about getting a beautiful hand made Oud while I'm out here and learning to play it. At our request, the shopkeeper pulls his only Oud down from the wall and begins playing, he shows us some scales and we discuss the Oud in Arabic at length, the middle eastern scales he plays are mesmerizing, I am hooked. The real challenge will be the wait, I want to get started now. The Oud inventory is scant as there is not much demand for Ouds among the soldiers and contractors on base, but the shopkeeper knows where to go to find a good one, he knows the Oud makers and the local musicians in Baghdad. I have confidence he will be back next week with some good ones to choose from. It should be worth the wait.

An
oud maker in his workshop in central Baghdad. Residents rarely play the
oud in public now for fear of angering militants critical of secular
music. (May 1st, 2008) http://www.nytimes.com/imagepages/2008/05/01/world/01oud_CA1.ready.html

http://www.daylife.com/photo/03URfMDcJB51C

Iraqi oud maker Najah Hashim al-Baghdadi polishes his newly finished
oud in his shop in Baghdad June 14, 2008. The pear-shaped musical
instrument, at 5,000 years old, is one of the oldest stringed
instruments in the world and originated from Iraq.

Quick Update from Baghdadtag:typepad.com,2003:post-559843942008-09-22T14:45:00-04:002008-09-22T14:45:00-04:00This is just a quick update to let everyone know I am doing well in Baghdad. I haven't been able to submit blog entries because the ISP on the base went down shortly after arriving. Hopefully blogs will resume with...Kamran Lehman

This is just a quick update to let everyone know I am doing well in Baghdad. I haven't been able to submit blog entries because the ISP on the base went down shortly after arriving. Hopefully blogs will resume with more frequency. I am going to keep it brief for now and leave everyone with a few pics from my first sandstorm. The hazy orange pics were taken just before sunset, no lens filters were used. It was surreal like being on the surface of Mars.

THE PERFUME PALACE DURING THE SANDSTORM

THE BA'ATH PARTY HEADQUARTERS THAT AFTERNOON

THE FORMER BA'ATH PARTY HEADQUARTERS AT SUNSET IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SANDSTORM

OUTSIDE MY HUMBLE LIVING QUARTERS

LIVING QUARTERS (the concrete walls are there to protect against incoming mortars)

(I'll give more details about these places and more in future blogs)

En Route to Baghdad--Stranded in Qatartag:typepad.com,2003:post-543408262008-08-18T07:45:28-04:002008-08-18T07:45:28-04:00The flight out of DC on the 10th of August was mostly uneventful. There were 2 layovers, one at Ramstien AFB in Germany and the other at Aviano AFB in Italy. The majority of the passengers were AF personnel. It...Kamran Lehman

The flight out of DC on the 10th of August was mostly uneventful. There were 2 layovers, one at Ramstien AFB in Germany and the other at Aviano AFB in Italy.The majority of the passengers were AF personnel. It felt a little strange being surrounded by AF, in a way it felt like I still belonged to this clan although my civilian clothes betrayed my estrangement. During the layovers the different branches’ military cultures were on display.The handful of marines were as thick as thieves, sticking closely together in the USO room as they played poker with their feet propped up on the table.I always admired the Marines’ tight-knit, band-of-brothers culture. The former AF in me was embarrassed by the AF personnel who were like gaggles of stray cats. I saw the same AF archetypes from my service; grizzled and overweight Air Force NCO’s walking to and fro, scratching their backsides; an AF girl basking in the disproportionate male to female ratio like the belle of the ball—the same girl less than a year ago who was marginalized by the elite echelons of the HS caste system.

We arrived at an AFB in Qatar in the dead of night. It was cooler than expected, until we crossed behind a C-130 and the props blasted us with hot air. We were marched toward a covered area and made to line up in formation. This was oddly reminiscent of boot camp, all of the civilian contractors were relieved when our names were called out shortly afterward and we were told to hang out to the side while our luggage was unloaded. When a flatbed truck arrived with the luggage, all the passengers pitched in by forming a human assembly-line which worked as good as an airport conveyor belt.This physical activity was welcomed after the 20+ hr trip cramped in the military charter plane.We were taken to our rooms on another base not far away.The next leg of the trip to Baghdad depended on the availability of flights.Shortly after getting quarters, rumors began to circulate that flights to Baghdad were hard to come by. One contractor had waited over a week only to be bumped from a flight by a General. Although I have doubts about the veracity of his story, he claimed he was among several standbys jostling for a few empty seats on the C-130. When they were told to go work it out amongst themselves, the General got impatient and told the pilot to leave without them. I didn’t fare too much better the first attempt, I had at least one full day to recover in Qatar before getting slated for a flight. After several hours of being rushed around with a sense of urgency only to sit and wait long periods haphazardly watching the Olympics, and having to schlep 200 lbs. of luggage in 115 degree heat outside and around the terminal (a dilapidated building and a tent) we were at last ushered through a makeshift Qatari customs queue and led to “Gate 2” (an even bigger tent) to wait longer. When it was finally time to board the C-130, an airman with mosquito wings for rank (an E-2 with 1 stripe) came to the front of the tent and announced nervously that the flight had been cancelled; he added that a reason hadn’t been given. I had no doubt that such a low ranking airman was strategically sent to make the announcement, every passenger in the tent wanted to strangle somebody, but you can’t take it out on a lowly airman. We all had our theories as to why the flight was canceled; perhaps it was because of a dust storm in Baghdad, or maybe the plane was diverted to an emergency humanitarian mission in Georgia...the latter theory was more comforting, but we’ll never know. We were all exhausted, and after all this and the many stories of being stranded in Qatar, Baghdad seemed like an unreachable city from 1001 Arabian nights; a journey that could only be completed by a camel, a magic carpet ride, and Sindbad’s vessel, but certainly not by an Air Force C-130. The next day we woke up to leave at 0500, this time we received news our flight was cancelled before even leaving the building, but as it turns out we were booked on another flight later that afternoon.

Getting Ready to Deploytag:typepad.com,2003:post-534552262008-07-29T16:18:49-04:002008-07-29T16:18:49-04:00I've been in the DC area getting prepared for my year in Baghdad. My official deployment date is August 10th. My mind is already primed and ready to go after a solid week of pre-deployment training and briefings. The reality...Kamran Lehman

I've been in the DC area getting prepared for my year in Baghdad. My official deployment date is August 10th. My mind is already primed and ready to go after a solid week of pre-deployment training and briefings.

The reality of deploying to a war zone set in last week when I was issued a flack jacket and Kevlar helmet. The employee who fitted me with the gear grimly reminded me that it's sole function wasn't comfort but to prevent bullets and shrapnel from piercing flesh.

The pre-deployment training was top-notch. The instructors have all done multiple tours in Iraq and collectively have seen just about everything there is to see (IEDs, ambushes, casualties, etc.). They have experienced close calls and have seen their buddies die. A Navy doctor, who taught combat first aid, gave the most intense class; he taught in a relaxed manner that spoke volumes about his experience caring for wounded soldiers. The power point presentation he used had some of the most disturbing images I've ever seen. You would think teaching this material would necessitate an urgent and serious tone throughout, however he had a sardonic voice similar to Jack Nicholson's, as if he was a plumber talking about broken pipes. During the slides a few people felt faint and turned away.

By and large our perception of American casualties in Iraq is through the lens of statistics, very few images are ever shown. Real life images have mostly been sanitized by our media. In my opinion, the ghastly image of one casualty tells a more compelling story than hearing numbers thrown around like 4000 dead, and 30,000 wounded.

The most captivating part of the week was learning how to call in a MedEvac team and how to set up an emergency triage. Compared to previous conflicts, the casualty survival rate in Iraq has been unsurpassed, thanks in large part to the ability to get wounded off the battlefield and on the operating table quickly. The MedEvac training was thrilling; the radio call in a medevac emergency contains 9 brief lines which ideally expresses all the details needed to get a rescue helicopter to your location and safely evacuate all casualties. The prevailing wisdom, known as the "golden hour", states that if you can get a casualty to a medical facility within 60 minutes, he/she has a 90% chance of survival.

With this said, in all likelihood I will spend the year without ever leaving the base. Nevertheless, mortar attacks are not uncommon on American FOB's (Forward Operating Bases) and my contract doesn't preclude going on patrols.